Mrs. Plumley smiled gently. “I’m so sorry she missed your lunch, but no, she’s not ill. Unfortunately, she’s not working, either. She recently took a short leave of absence. Perhaps you could write down your name and number in case she calls in.”
“That’s a good idea.” I pulled out a business card and wrote a quick note on the back. Emily, call me. Important.
I handed her the card and watched Mrs. Plumley slip it into one of the many message slots that covered one wall.
“There,” she said. “She’ll get the message when she calls in.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your help. Can you tell me how long she’ll be gone?”
She pulled on her lower lip for a moment, then said, “I’m not comfortable giving out that information. I’m sorry.”
“I understand.” And I did. I stood there for a few seconds, hoping inspiration would strike and I would think of another brilliant question to ask the helpful Mrs. Plumley. Something along the lines of, Is Emily still in love with Max Adams? Does she ever talk about him? Or has she finally moved on? Is she happy?
But Mrs. Plumley probably wouldn’t be comfortable giving out that information, either. No other questions came to my mind, and it was probably just as well. I needed to skedaddle, as my mother would say, before I said something stupid and blew my cover.
“Well, you all have a good day,” I said cheerfully, and walked out.
* * *
The GPS in Mom’s car directed me to a street a few blocks off the main square in Sonoma. I came to a stop in front of a pretty house perched behind a vine-strewn fence. I didn’t know why, but Emily’s parents’ house was exactly as I imagined it would be. Touches of fairy-tale allure blended nicely with rustic, wine-country charm. A pretty porch circled the house with a Victorian-style spindle railing, painted white. There were no cars in the driveway and I wondered if anyone was home.
“Might as well go find out,” I mumbled as I unfastened my seat belt and climbed out of the car. I walked over to the gate that was closed across the driveway and checked the latch. There was a lock on it. Damn. I looked around, wondering if there was some other way to get close to the house. Even if her parents weren’t home, I could snoop around, look inside a window or two. What would Gabriel do in this situation?
“They’re not home,” someone shouted from behind me.
I turned around and saw a young woman standing on the front porch across the street. She was dressed in pajamas and held a tiny baby on her shoulder. It looked like she was trying to burp him.
“Have they been gone all day?” I asked.
“All week’s more like it,” she said. “Maybe longer. I guess they’re on vacation, although I couldn’t say for sure. I haven’t been around much.” She patted the baby’s back. “I’ve been in the hospital on bed rest for the past month, but I came home with this little one, so it was worth it.”
“Congratulations,” I said.
“Thank you. He’s a darling thing.” She turned her head and buried her nose in his little blue blanket. “Yes, you are. Yes, you are.”
From across the street, I heard a long, loud baby belch, and laughed. “He sounds healthy.”
“He sure is,” she said, grinning, then patted his little baby butt. “Yes, he is. Oh yes, he is.”
Oh, dear God. She sounded like she was talking to the family dog. I guess it worked for babies, too.
“Thanks for your help,” I said, waving. Then I got back in the car and headed for Dharma.
“My day was a bust,” I griped, and slumped in my chair at the kitchen table.
“Good thing there’s wine,” Dad said, and grinned as he handed me a glass. “Try this. It’s a new Fumé Blanc from Chateau St. Jean. Crisp and smooth with a hint of melon.”
“Sounds yummy,” Mom said, and took a petite sip. “Mm, it is.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I said, accepting the small glass of wine from him. I took a sip and checked the wall clock for the tenth time. Derek hadn’t yet called to say he was on his way, and I was feeling edgy. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because I’d been driving around playing private eye all day. I got up from the table and moved around the kitchen, checking the refrigerator, checking the soup on the stove, glancing out the window.
I went into the living room and tried Emily’s phone number again. Even though her principal had verified that she was on a leave of absence, she would still be checking her messages. Wouldn’t she? So maybe my first message got lost in the telephone-answering void.
Listening to the sound of her voice on voice mail again brought back memories. The first time I called, I wasn’t absolutely certain it was her, but now I knew for sure. I left another message with my home and work numbers. I told her I lived in the city and could drive out to meet her anytime she wanted. I just really needed to talk to her, I said, then realized I was starting to sound desperate, so I hung up the phone.
I was agitated about more than just Emily not contacting me and Derek being late. I was homesick for my apartment, for my work, for the city. I’d been away from home too long. I imagined my mail piling up and deadlines being missed, even though my neighbors were collecting my mail and my clients had all been alerted that their books would be ready in the next two weeks. I loved my parents, loved my hometown, but I still ached to get back to the city.
I came into the kitchen and idly tore a piece of paper from Mom’s notepad. I began folding it, first forward, then back, turning and twisting and making tiny folds. This was what I did when I was nervous. Within two minutes, I’d made an origami stork.
“For you.” I held it out to Dad.
He chuckled as he took it from me. It wasn’t much bigger than his thumb, but he held it carefully in the palm of his hand and shook his head in amazement. “You’re a genius.”
“Hardly.” It was my turn to laugh. “I do make an awesome paper bird, though.”
“A work of art,” Mom said lovingly.
The phone rang and Dad picked it up, listened, then handed it to me. “It’s Derek.”
I grabbed the phone. “Hi.”
“Darling, I can’t make it out there tonight. There’s simply too much going on.”
“You sound tired.
“Just aggravated.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yes, I am, too. I want you to be extra careful. I don’t like to leave you alone at night.”
“I don’t like it, either.”
I asked him if he’d unearthed any information on the Ogunite church or the survivalists, but he confessed that he had been too busy to deal with any of that. We spoke for a few more minutes; then I hung up and called Gabriel to give him the news. He assured me he would stay at Jackson’s tonight and we would all talk tomorrow.
I hung up the phone and immediately felt lonely. And that was ridiculous. I couldn’t go one night without seeing Derek? What was wrong with me? I had a rich, full life and was perfectly capable of entertaining myself. I enjoyed my time alone. Besides, I wasn’t actually alone. My parents were both watching me carefully.
“Derek can’t make it tonight,” I said. “He’s still at work and it sounds like he’ll be there for a while.”
“In that case, we’ll just have to play three-handed Bananagrams,” Mom said.
The next day, I decided it was time to make a bold move. I asked Mom for the keys to her car, but when she found out where I intended to go, she refused to be left behind.
“All right,” I said, “but this isn’t a carefree stroll in the park. We’ll take one quick walk around the campus, gather whatever empirical data we can glean, and then we’re out of there.”
“Aye, aye, captain,” she said, saluting smartly.
“And don’t wear anything too colorful,” I warned. “We don’t want to attract any attention.”
“Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll dress just like you,” Mom said.
I looked down at my dark jeans and slim, black leather jacket, then back at her. “Ouch, Mom.”
I wasn’t so sure she meant that, but ten minutes later, she came out in blue jeans, a thin red sweater, and a cropped navy jacket.
“Mom, you look very chic.”
“Just like you,” she said, making me laugh.
We drove four miles to the Art Institute and found a parking place in a local shopping area a block from the school. As we strolled briskly along the wide, tree-lined walkway of the campus, I noticed colorful banners on every light pole touting the latest artist retrospective being held at the institute’s well-respected art gallery. The banner’s image was blurry and I paid little attention to it, figuring it was some local artist I’d never heard of.
“It’s a pretty campus,” Mom said. “Did you enjoy your time teaching here?”
“I did, most of the time.” As I gazed around at the students hurrying to classes, I felt a rush of nostalgia for my college days. We passed the student union, and I considered walking inside to indulge in a little vicarious taste of student life, when someone shoved a flyer into my hand. I was ready to toss it in the trash, but happened to notice the large headline: GENIUS ON PAPER.
I stared at the stippled face of the honoree, then glanced up at one of the banners flapping on the light pole. I could finally make out that blurred image. Gazing back at the flyer, I read all about the upcoming retrospective featuring the most important works of that late, great papermaker, Max Adams.
“Oh, my God,” I whispered, and scanned the flyer as Mom read over my shoulder. The opening-night cocktail party for the monthlong Max Adams Retrospective was scheduled for two Saturdays from now. The party was to feature several prominent artists, a live jazz band, a cash bar, hors d’oeuvres, and one very special guest.
“Look who the show’s curator is,” Mom said, pointing to the name at the bottom of the flyer.
I read the name, then did a double take. “Angelica Johansen. You have got to be kidding.”
What in the world is Angelica up to?
“Didn’t you suspect she knew Max was alive?”
“Yes, and now I’m sure of it.” I shook the piece of paper. “This could be why she set the whole thing in motion, starting with selling the book to Joe.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Of course,” I said. “She expects Max Adams to be her special guest.”
Mom and I stepped inside the dark lecture hall and found ourselves on the top tier of an arena-style auditorium. In the front of the class, standing at a podium next to a large slide screen that showed a photograph of the Greek Acropolis, was Solomon.
With a slide-change clicker in one hand and a laser pointer in the other, Solomon was delivering a stirring account of his last visit to the famous ancient ruin.
He glanced up at the top row and I shivered involuntarily. The lights were dimmed and he was busy lecturing, but I felt as though he could see right through me from twenty rows away. He seemed taller, older, better-looking, and more solidly built than I remembered him.
“Do we have latecomers?” he asked acerbically, his deep, smooth voice resonating through the room.
“Sorry, wrong classroom,” I said loudly, and pushed Mom toward the door.
Once in the hall, I had to take a few deep breaths to calm my stuttering heart. I hadn’t seen Solomon in almost ten years, but all it took was a few short seconds in the same room to leave me certain that the man could be a cold-blooded killer.
“I had no idea he was so forceful,” Mom said, breathless herself.
“I’d forgotten,” I muttered, wondering if I’d simply been too young and naive to recognize Solomon’s potent sexual energy, or if his unpredictable, domineering ways back then had blinded me to his magnetism.
“No wonder Crystal is so in love with him.”
“I know. He’s got some lethal pheromones at work.”
Mom’s eyes narrowed in disgust. “Which helps mask the fact that he’s a psychopath.”
I looked at her in amazement. “Well put, Mom.”
“I have my moments.”
Laughing, I grabbed her arm and said, “Let’s get out of here.”
We made one quick stop at the gallery store. I wanted to find a poster of the retrospective to show Max. Wouldn’t he be surprised?
The store had all different retrospective items available, from postcards to wall posters. I chose a medium-sized poster on good-quality card stock. Mom wanted one and so did I, so I ended up buying three.
“Oh, Max Adams,” the salesgirl said with excitement. “I love his work. Don’t you?”
“I do,” I said as I handed her my money.
“If you’re a student, you can get discount tickets to the retrospective.”
I frowned. “I’m not a student.”
“Me, neither,” Mom said.
“Oh,” the girl said, looking disappointed. But she perked up again. “Well, you should buy them, anyway, because it’s going to sell out. The buzz has been incredible.”
“Really? What are you hearing about it?”
“It’s all his most important work, plus a lot of photographs of him during his lectures and appearances. He was so hot, you know? And rumor has it that somebody really important will make an appearance. I hear he worked with celebrities a lot.”
“Sounds exciting.”
“Oh yeah. Everyone on campus is crazy about Max Adams. It was an absolute tragedy that he died so young, so we’re all determined to keep his spirit alive.”
“That’s so beautiful,” I said.
“Yeah. Max rocks.” She turned to the cash register. “You can buy the retrospective tickets here if you want.”
I looked at Mom, who nodded, so I asked how much they were, and the price was reasonable enough. Not that it mattered. I wouldn’t miss this for the world. “Okay, I’ll take six tickets.”
“Who’s invited to the opening-night party?” Mom asked.
“It’s free and open to the public, so it’s going to be insanely crowded and stupid,” she said. “I’m totally going!”
As we were leaving the sales counter, two young guys in green shirts and matching baseball caps walked into the store, pushing a cart loaded with boxes. I grabbed hold of Mom to stop her, just as the skinnier guy called out to the salesgirl, “Where do you want these, Shelley?”
“Stack ’em over here behind the counter, Bennie,” the salesgirl answered.
“Hey, Bennie,” I said, stepping closer. “Do you remember me? I’m London Wainwright’s sister Brooklyn.”
He looked me up and down, and his mouth curved in a lopsided grin. “Sure, I remember you, Brooklyn. How you doin’?”
“Benjamin Styles?” Mom said. “Is that you? Hello.”
Bennie Styles was at least six feet tall and as gangly as a chicken. He still had adolescent pimples on his face and neck. It was hard to believe that this was the weapons expert who’d taught Solomon everything he knew about ammunition, guns, and survival.
Bennie blinked at Mom; then his eyes widened. “Mrs., uh, Wainwright. How you doin’?”
“I’m dandy, thanks,” Mom said.
Bennie’s coworker elbowed him and Bennie jolted. “Oh, uh, this is my friend Stefan. This is Brooklyn and her mom.”
“Hey, nice to meet you,” Stefan said, flashing us a grin. Melody was right. He was really cute. He winked and gave us both a thumbs-up before grabbing the cart and rolling it over to the counter to stack boxes.
“So, what’re you guys doing here?” Bennie asked.
“We were just purchasing tickets to the Max Adams Retrospective,” Mom said. “Are you going?”
Bennie slapped his forehead in disgust. “If I hear that guy’s name one more time, I’m gonna punch somebody.”
Mom took a half step back. “Why is that?”
“Everybody’s gone crazy over him, that’s why. Especially the girls around here. Hello, the guy made paper.
You know how he did it? With paper!” He waved his hands crazily. “Hello, I already got paper! There’s paper everywhere. Who needs more paper? Well, toilet paper, maybe. But what’s the big effing deal about this guy? Pardon my French.”
“I appreciate your opinion, Bennie,” Mom said carefully.
He pointed his finger to make a point. “Oh, it’s not just mine. One of the professors here is totally pissed off about all the publicity this Max Adams dude is getting. I swear, if the guy wasn’t already dead, Professor Solomon would’ve…Well, anyway.” He scratched his neck, unsure where to go from here.
“Professor Solomon?” Mom said, her tone guileless. “I’m not sure I know who that is.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Bennie’s lips twisted up in a grimace. “Sorry I was rude. I got a big mouth sometimes. I better get back to work.”
“Wait, Bennie,” Mom said, stopping him. “Crystal Byers said you might be willing to teach me how to reload my ammunition. Can you still do that for me?”
“Oh. Sure. Yeah. I mean, yes, ma’am. Crystal was sayin’ you needed some help with that, and I’m your man.” Belatedly he remembered his manners and whipped off his baseball cap. His hair was stick straight and flopped into his eyes. He brushed it back impatiently.
“Yes, she said you were the best man for the job.”
He puffed up his scrawny chest and grinned. “Yes, ma’am, I am.”
“Good. Now, I should tell you, I’m only interested in reloading shotgun shells for dove hunting, so I went out and picked up the Lee Load-All Reloader with the primer feed attachment.”
He nodded in approval. “That’s a good little starter kit.”
“That’s what I was told.” She pulled out a piece of paper from her purse and wrote something down, then handed it to Bennie.
“This is my phone number. I can start anytime next week, and I’ll be glad to pay you for your time.”
He stared at the paper for a few seconds, then looked at Mom. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll call you.”
“You do that, Benjamin,” she said, patting his arm. “You’re a good boy.”
Back at Mom’s, we had our customary glass of wine while we waited for Dad to come home. I hadn’t heard from Derek yet. I was hoping he would make it to Dharma tonight, not only because I missed him, but also because it would mean that things had calmed down at his office. But most of all, we needed to get back to Jackson’s house to see Max and find out what Gabriel had learned about Angelica. And I had some interesting news of my own, thanks to our field trip to the Art Institute earlier.
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